Whispers (17 page)

Reilly clenched the steering wheel, picturing her crumbled on the front porch. Even as he’d lied for Matt, that image had been burned in his mind. Since then, Reilly had been with his share of women, some nice, some vindictive, some downright mean, but he’d never understood what made Matt want to hurt someone, someone like Gracie Beck.

“
She took me in and cleaned me up. She kept saying it was her fault. I don’t know why, she wouldn’t tell me more. I guess when something like that happens, everyone feels to blame. Everyone but the person who did it.”

Reilly knew that Matt had felt the burden of his guilt, but he’d never convince Gracie of that. He didn’t try.

“
I thought she’d call the sheriff, but she said it wouldn’t help. The only thing I could do was get away. The next thing I knew, she’d packed me up.”

Reilly couldn’t even imagine how she’d felt being thrown out after surviving a rape.

“
I finally convinced her that I knew who’d done it. It was like she was certain that some stranger had swooped into town just to hurt me, but once I got through to her that it was Matt, she was furious.” Gracie paused and took a deep breath. “You know what happened after that, though. Sheriff Greene hauled Matt in and you gave him the ticket out.”

Guilty as charged. She didn’t wait for another apology.

“
That pretty much sealed my fate. Next thing I knew, she was shoving a suitcase full of money in my hand and giving me the keys to the Plymouth.”

“
Money? Where’d she get the money?”

“
I have no idea. We sure didn’t have much of it around the house when I was growing up.”

“
She never explained why she wanted you to go?”

“
No. She just told me to get away from Diablo Springs and never come back.”

Chapter Fifteen

DIGGER Young lived in the same residence his family had occupied for nearly 150 years. It was an incredible house, especially by Diablo Springs’ standards. Different from any other place on earth. The Youngs had started as carpenters who were more or less recruited into the casket business and, with it, the mortuary trade. As a home to carpenters, the hand-tooled magnificence of the place shouldn’t have been surprising, but the house itself looked too maudlin for opulence. Each generation had added their touch, like globs of dough on a pie. Carved balustrades climbed up and up, embossed with capering squirrels and soaring birds. The porch roof was made of the finest wood, teak and unending. Elaborately carved vignettes and rosettes adorned the wide front door and continued up to the trim where the dainty sculpting went all the way around like decorations on a cake.

And yet overall, the house seemed ominous, hunkering. A place that surely had cobwebs dangling in the corners and strange smells wafting through the rooms. There was something monstrous about it.

Reilly took the winding drive to the far side where the entrance to the mortuary was. For all the elaborate decorations at the house’s front door, this entrance was plain to the point of obscurity. A white sign with
young mortuary
in black letters hung above a smooth white door and that was it. It was stark and cold, and as she stared at it through Reilly’s windshield, Gracie was overwhelmingly grateful he’d insisted on coming with her.

She was also glad they’d talked on the way. Their circumstances hadn’t changed at all, but somehow everything else had. She felt the tight grip of anger that had been knotted inside her ease up. Seventeen years was a long time to bear that kind of burden. She’d mistakenly thought she’d shed it years and years ago, but now she realized she’d only hidden her rage and pain deep within. Now that she’d dug it up, she found it could no longer hurt her. She could let it go.

“
Ready?” he asked.

Not at all. Truth be told, she didn’t want to go in there. “Ready,” she answered.

He put an arm around her as they dashed together to the porch that wrapped around the entire house. When they reached the shelter there, they stood for a moment, looking at the lakes filling in the valleys of the desert. Despite the heat, she shivered as Reilly tried the knob of the mortuary door. When he found it locked, he used the miniature knocker in the middle. No one answered. He knocked again. Gracie’s hands clenched in frustration. As much as she dreaded this, she wanted to get it over with.

“
Let’s try the other door,” Reilly said.

They followed the porch to the front door of Digger’s home and Reilly knocked again. They heard a shuffle, something heavy being moved and then silence. They looked at one another as they waited. After a moment there was another sound, scraping, furtive.

“
I don’t like this,” she said softly. Understatement of the century. So much for her brave words earlier.

The door swung open swiftly, as if to startle away a kid playing ding dong ditch. Gracie let out a yelp and from inside the house, Mike “Digger” Young did too.

When she’d left Diablo Springs, Digger had been in his prime. The seventeen years since had added a smattering of gray to his hair, a distinguished flair of white to his temples, and character lines to his face. He had bright blue eyes that seemed electric beneath his dark brows and his hair was neatly trimmed, his cropped beard groomed to perfection. From the neck up he appeared suave, dignified. The image stopped at his worn red cotton button-down and faded Wrangler jeans, but there was still something devastatingly attractive about him. Rumor had it that her mother had been crazy about Digger’s father at one time, though he was twenty years older than she’d been. If his father had half of his looks, Gracie could see how her mother might have willingly entered a relationship with a man so much her senior.

He leaned closer to the torn screen on the ornate door and frowned. “She’s not here,” he said.

“
What?” Gracie asked.

“
I said, she’s not here. I don’t keep them here. It’s just lies that I keep them here.”

A cold chill that had nothing to do with the hot, wet wind covered Gracie in goosebumps.

She inched closer to Reilly and said, “I’d still like to make arrangements for her burial if possible. We tried to call first, Mike. Your phone must not be working.”

“
Don’t have one. And it’s Digger. Won’t answer to nothing else.”

“
You don’t have one? But there’s a number in the book.”

“
I know. Doesn’t mean I have to answer to it.” He glared at her for a moment.

“
Digger,” Reilly said. “Can we come in?”

Digger’s eyes bugged out a little and he looked over his shoulder and back. “In here? You want to come in here?”

Before Reilly could answer, Digger gave a harsh laugh. He had the whitest teeth Gracie had ever seen. They looked nearly artificial against the dark beard and the dim lighting. Despite her determination not to, she looked for resemblances between herself and this man who might have been her brother. But she saw nothing familiar in his face. The callous sound of his laughter ended abruptly and he opened the door wider.

“
Daddy’s probably pissin’ himself knowing you’re coming in his house,” he said.

Gracie hesitated, one foot on either side of the threshold, a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach. Reilly’s hand moved to the small of her back, whether to urge her forward or support her, she wasn’t sure. Digger took it all in and gave another bark of laughter.

“
I meant in his grave. He never did get over your momma. Never did.”

She had no comment on Digger’s devotion to her mother. Everything she knew was hearsay. Grandma Beck had refused to talk about Gracie’s mother’s relationship with Digger but the rest of the town was happy to offer their theories.

With more reluctance than she’d admit to, Gracie stepped through the door. The smell hit her immediately. It was dark and sweet, like fruit that had spoiled. Cloying. She looked around for the source, but everything inside was immaculate—she`d been wrong about the cobwebs. There wasn’t a speck of dust in sight. The room was packed full of furniture, though. Wooden, all of it. Carved rocking chairs, unfinished oak tables. Stools, lots of footstools, and straight-back chairs. Beneath that heavy, tainted sugar smell lingered the scent of freshly cut wood, sap, and pine.

“
Sit down, sit down,” he said, suddenly jovial.

He pulled a couple of the straight-backs from the clutter of furniture and set them in a tight circle just inside the door, seemingly unaware of how strange that was, to huddle in the entryway.

“
I don’t get visitors much,” he said.

Shocking, thought Gracie, but kept that to herself. She’d expected some level of hostility from him. Between the scandal over her mother’s death and the undertaking business, Digger was the kind of man people talked about. He was rarely seen in town, even more rarely seen with others. Until a few moments ago, Gracie had never known him to smile. Beyond the circle of his kingdom, Digger was like a ghost.

“
I hadn’t spoken to Grandma Beck in a long time. I’m afraid I don’t know what provisions she made for... for .. .” Gracie breathed in, trying to fight down the emotion. But all she accomplished was filling her lungs with that cloying scent. “I’m not sure what arrangements to make, to be honest, but I wanted to talk about the options.”

“
Do you want to see her? She’s still fresh. Haven’t fixed her up yet if you know what I mean.”

The last wasn’t a question. Gracie swallowed hard. Reilly reached for her hand and kept it clasped in his.

“
You just said she wasn’t here,” Reilly pointed out.

Digger frowned. “‘Course she’s not here. She’s in the mortuary. Told you, I don’t keep them here. It’s just lies that I keep them here.”

Gracie frowned. “Her—she’s next door?”

Digger nodded. “Unless she got up and walked out.”

Gracie stood so swiftly her chair tipped and nearly fell over. Reilly righted it as he stood beside her.

“
Do you want to see her?” he asked softly. Digger watched with undisguised interest.

Gracie’s voice seemed to have left her, but she managed a nod.

Digger stood and carefully returned their chairs to the jumble they’d started in. Without a word, he led them through the front door, around the porch, and to the mortuary entrance. He pulled a large key ring with only two keys on it from his pocket and opened up. The door swung back on a stillness that seemed to mock the flailing storm beyond the porch shelter. Digger gestured for them to go inside.

“
You’ll want to brace yourself,” he said in the same tone of voice he might have told her there was a sale on eggs at the grocery store.

She nodded and followed him through the reception area where three chairs and a love seat were gathered, waiting for the next group of mourners. A black velvet curtain portioned off a viewing room to the left. Digger went straight, through a utilitarian door that led down an L-shaped hall. At the end was a metal door with a red
Do Not Enter
sign.

Digger looked at Gracie one last time before pushing through to a stainless steel room with counters, two tables in the center, and a huge drain in the floor. The embalming room. One table had a sheet-covered body on it. Gracie’s stomach clenched tightly and Reilly turned her to face him.

“
You don’t have to do this, Gracie,” he said.

“
Yes, I do.”

She heard rustling and knew Digger had uncovered the body on the table. She tried not to breathe too deeply as she faced her grandmother’s corpse.

Digger was right. She’d needed to brace herself. But not for the reasons Digger might have imagined. She’d needed to brace for the rush of emotion that hit her like the storm outside. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once. Carefully, she approached the still form that had once been a living, breathing person. She stood over Grandma Beck and felt the tears fill her eyes as memories she’d thought forgotten swirled through her mind.

It wasn’t the grisly death she saw as she looked down; it was the remembered life. Grandma Beck was a little woman who always gave the impression of being larger than she was, though on tiptoes she barely reached five foot two. Her hands were tiny, delicate things that now lay crossed over her chest, as if in defense. Her eyes were mercifully closed. The soft shadow of her lashes on her cheeks and the relaxed expression on her face made her look like she might be sleeping. Like she might, at any moment, sit up and tell Gracie she was sorry and that she loved her. Only the ashen pallor of her skin let Gracie know that wasn’t going to happen.

As she stared down at her, Gracie felt another chunk of the wall she’d built between her past and her present dislodge and disintegrate. She brushed at the tears streaming down her face and gave a sad laugh. Reilly was silent at her side.

“
I didn’t realize how mad I’ve been at her. I mean, I knew I was hurt and I was angry at first. But I thought I’d gotten over it. I thought I’d moved on. I didn’t realize . . . until just now, looking at her . . . she was hurt too. She had to be hurt too. She loved me. It wasn’t easy for her to send me away.”

“
You thought it was?” he asked.

She nodded. “I had myself convinced that she never really cared. That she was glad to get rid of me. But when I look at her, I can remember her touching me.” The tears fell faster. “Holding me and taking care of me.”